


Made Men

by welzes



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 18:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14195544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welzes/pseuds/welzes
Summary: Belial joins the mafia and meets the rumored relative of the new boss: Sandalphon.





	Made Men

“That sweet boy comes every Sunday to pray,” said the nun, Rosetta.

Belial quirked an eyebrow. “Pray? Doesn’t he know that this is a breeding ground for criminals?”

The boy in question sat in the frontmost pew, his hands folded and head bowed in deep prayer. He’d walked into the church approximately five minutes prior, assumed his current position, and hadn’t made a noise since. If this weren't a common meeting ground for associates and soldiers of the mafia, he would have looked right at home.

Rosetta chortled. “Of course he knows. But he doesn’t cause trouble, and a faithful patron always helps the church’s reputation.”

“So what’s his story?”

“Rumor has it that he’s the new boss’ adoptive son.” Belial stared at her, wide-eyed.

“Hey, hey, hey. Is that for real? What kind of a mafia boss lets his son walk around unattended?”

Having finished his prayer, the boy unfolded his hands, but didn’t move to stand. Instead, he straightened his back and turned his head to watch a pair of associates whispering conspicuously in the corner.

“Oh, you can rest assured that he isn’t. You’ve been in here the whole time, so you wouldn’t have noticed the very important person who brought him,” said Rosetta.

“Who?” asked Belial. Rosetta’s smile widened.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Tch. You’re awfully devious for a woman of crooked faith.”

“Thanks. I get that a lot.”

* * *

The following Sunday, Belial sat in the frontmost pew and waited. Like clockwork, the rumored scion of the new boss entered the church at the same time as he had the last week. Belial gazed disinterestedly at the high ceiling when soft footsteps came to a slow stop beside him.

“Um.”

Belial craned his neck. “Hm?”

The young man stood by his preferred pew, his eyebrows scrunched together in uncertainty.

“Never mind,” he said, hesitation oozing from his words as he turned away. “I’ll sit somewhere else.”

Belial uncrossed his legs, lowering them from the beam on which they’d been resting. He inched forward until he was seated on the edge of the pew, the motion exaggerated to catch the young man’s attention.

“Hey, wait. If it’s a seat you want, just say so. Here, I’ll even scoot over for you. How’s that?” he said.

The young man, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, nodded and settled down next to Belial. “Thank you.”

Then he assumed the position Belial had first seen him in and began to pray. Belial waited, and once the young man opened his eyes and lowered his hands to his lap, asked, “So . . . what brings you here?”

“What do you mean?” the young man asked in turn.

“You could pray at any church in the city, but you chose this one.” Belial gave a small wave of his hand, indicating the walls around them. “What’s so special about this tiny little building?”

“I like to watch the people.”

“Awfully forward of you . . . I didn’t peg you for a voyeur. You look too virtuous to be watching strangers all day.” The young man smiled, the expression tender and knowing.

“They’re not strangers. At least, not to me.”

“Oh? Then you’re aware of what this place is?”

“Of course I am.”

“You’re an interesting kid.” At that, the young man turned away with a mild pout.

“I’m not a child. My name is Sandalphon.”

“Ah,” Belial clicked his tongue, “nice to meet you, _Sandalphon_. Jeez, that’s a mouthful. I’m Belial.”

* * *

Sandalphon, to be frank, was a bore. The paragon of innocent purity, he prayed and never had anything bad to say about anybody. Belial had suppressed the need to yawn once or twice during their last encounter, and he dreaded the thought of the next as Sandalphon arrived on the dot.

“Who was that?” he asked. The large doors of the church had swung closed behind Sandalphon upon his entrance, allowing Belial a glimpse of a white-haired man attending to a vehicle outside.

“Nobody,” said Sandalphon, lightly. Belial regarded him with heavy-lidded eyes.

“That’s not true.”

“No,” Sandalphon agreed. “But that’s the only answer I’ll give you.”

Deciding that a change in approach was necessary, Belial said, “The color of his hair reminds me of someone I knew—not that white is much of a color.”

“Was it someone important?”

“To me, yeah.”

“What happened to them?”

“He died. No,” Belial corrected, “he was murdered.” Sandalphon’s demeanor shifted from one of polite curiosity to sorrow as he bowed his head.

“I’m sorry,” he offered, sincerely, to which Belial shrugged. “That must have been painful.”

“No more painful than it’ll be for the guy who did it.”

Sandalphon lifted his head, studying Belial with renewed interest. “Is that why you joined the mafia? Are you looking for the culprit for the sake of revenge?”

“And if I am?”

“I hope you find them.” Belial chuckled.

“So do I. I’ve got a pretty good idea as to who did it.”

 _Lucifer_ , he thought. In other words, the new boss of the mafia. Belial just had to find out where he was hiding away, out of the public view; and if rumors were to be believed, then Sandalphon would be the key to prying open that lock.

* * *

“Congratulations. I hear you’re a made man now,” said Sandalphon.

Belial hummed. “Word travels fast if you’ve heard that already. Just who are you?”

“I’m not at liberty to say. Just know that I have my sources.”

A faint smile was teasing at Sandalphon’s thin lips, and Belial bristled upon hitting the usual wall so early in their conversation. He sighed, putting on the face of one unimpressed. Sandalphon was an eccentric font of knowledge regarding the mafia’s goings-on—likely the result of a special relationship with the boss, which served to solidify the popular theory further.

“I can’t tell if you’re as innocent as you appear or the omniscient spawn of Satan himself. Does no one here know how to talk straight?” he asked, and Sandalphon’s brow knit in a show of what looked like guilt.

“Well, rules are rules . . . ,” he murmured, drawing a chuckle from Belial.

“I was kidding. You’re sensitive, you know that?” He waved when Sandalphon’s shoulders tensed. “Relax. I didn’t say that that was a bad thing. In fact, it’s sort of . . . exciting.”

“Exciting?” Belial nodded. This seemed to hearten Sandalphon, who perked up, albeit with some visible restraint. “I don’t know about that. If anything, you seem more interesting than I could ever be.”

At that, Belial chuckled again, the sound stretched out and languid, as he said, “You haven’t seen anything.”

* * *

The instant Sandalphon finished his weekly prayer, he turned toward Belial and said, “They say that you excel in torture and hits.”

Belial scowled—not because he disapproved of the statement, but because Sandalphon had said it like they were about to discuss the weather. It was a perfectly sunny day, unsuitable yet for the fun filth to be spewing from those virtuous lips.

“Where do you hear this stuff? For that matter, is this age-appropriate for you?”

“I’m an adult, Belial,” said Sandalphon, his brow furrowing in disapproval. Then, perhaps with a smidgen of defensiveness: “I heard it from the captains.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I mean it. But it’s . . . good that you’re finding your place here.”

Belial blinked, then looked over his shoulder to gauge Sandalphon’s sincerity. There was no trace of sarcasm in those eyes; however, he couldn’t entirely get a read on what was.

“Is that how you see it?” asked Belial.

“Yes,” said Sandalphon, his gaze drifting in rumination. “To lose someone important to you must be terrible. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the grief. To that end, if you feel a sense of belonging when you perform your duties, then . . . I’m happy for you.”

“Uh-huh . . . ” Sandalphon smiled, and the tension of the conversation lifted as he shifted in his seat.

“Next week, will you come with me? I want to show you to the manor. Someone there might be able to help you find the man you’ve been looking for.”

Smirking, Belial slowly uncrossed his legs and leaned in toward Sandalphon to say in a low voice, “I thought you’d never ask, Sandy.”

* * *

The long-awaited day arrived with little to no flair. Belial was driven alongside his host to a sprawling manor away from the city. Inside, he was led to the guest area, where a settee and an assortment of beautiful chairs crowded a round coffee table. Sandalphon’s face fell when they found cups, but no pot of coffee, on the table.

“It’s not here. Wait for me,” said Sandalphon, his gaze flickering to Belial before he started the track back to the kitchen. “I’ll get us drinks.”

“Take your time,” said Belial.

He tucked his hands inside his pant pockets and counted to ten after the door clicked behind him, then slipped out to climb the long set of stairs toward the top floor: The manor was too vast to check every floor, so he’d start with the most obvious choice.

He circled the open floor and started down a long corridor, where he stopped before a set of double doors with a glossy handle. A faint light streamed past the crack under the doors and he rapped his knuckles on the right door.

A soft, muffled voice spoke from the other side: “Enter.”

Trembling with excitement, Belial turned the knob and stepped inside. The empty seat of the boss’ chair faced him directly; to his left, Lucifer sat on the couch with a book on his lap. A wry smile crept onto his face as Belial laughed.

“I was mistaken,” he said. “To think that snot-nosed kid is the one in charge—you had us all fooled, Lucifer.”

“Sandalphon was brought into the family as a playmate,” started Lucifer, smiling past Belial, who deduced that he’d been followed. “While he wasn’t a made man, we still considered him family. With Lucilius’ passing, I found it too risky to initiate him into the mafia through its traditional methods. The result of that decision is what you see now.”

“So you relegated yourself to the position of advisor, while your boy toy became the figurehead for his safety. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that this was some sort of a joke.”

Lucifer smiled for a little longer, when an aloof frigidity fell over his serene gaze. The tone with which he cast judgment befitted that of a boss, not a mere advisor.

“Belial. You conspired to expose and assassinate the boss. Punishment for a crime so heinous is death.”

“Look who’s talking,” said Belial, “but I can’t argue with you there. Well, I’ve made it this far. The last I can do is own up to my schemes, unlike someone.”

Lucifer didn’t answer—his silence, his admission to the egregious sin of fratricide. The click of a cocking gun sounded behind Belial, who sneered and thought, _Ah, I’m gonna get shot up by a total rookie._

“Shall I, Lucifer?” asked the voice of Sandalphon.

“Do it.”

The gun fired at point-blank range, killing Belial instantly.

* * *

No more than ten seconds later, Lucio entered the room and blanched at the gruesome sight on the floor.

“Boss!” he cried. “What a terrible mess. Let me get this cleaned up straightaway.”

Sandalphon, who now stood before the boss’ desk, looked down with an apologetic set in his brow. “Sorry, Lucio.”

“No, no. The fault is mine for allowing this to happen. What should I do with the body?” Sandalphon raised his head.

“Have it buried in the cemetery behind the church.”

“Behind the church?” echoed Lucio.

“No one but the boss’ family can be buried in the same grounds. The church is the closest alternative. Don’t mark the site, either.”

“As you wish.”

Once Lucio had collected the body and left with the promise of returning later to strip the carpet, Lucifer stood with a smile.

“As ever, you’re too kind,” he said.

“I just thought, if that were me and you had died . . . I would have done the same thing,” said Sandalphon, eyeing the blood stains on the carpet when a comforting hand fell on his shoulder.

With his other hand, Lucifer took the gun from Sandalphon’s lax grip and set it on the desk. Then he wrapped an arm around Sandalphon’s shoulders, so that his body might shield Sandalphon from the sight of blood and gore.

“I will not leave you for as long as I draw breath, Sandalphon.”

Against his chest, Sandalphon smiled. “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, I’ve had my fill of jaded Sandalphon and back-flipped in a weird direction to write his early canon personality. Also, I'm impressed by how tame Belial was. This is a bizarre story.
> 
> A few worldbuilding tidbits: Belial was right to claim that Lucifer killed Lucilius, who’d threatened to collapse the mafia amid some old drama. Sandalphon has little memory of life before mafia goings-on and is heavily dependent on Lucifer for everything. (They are both okay with this.) Lucio is the underboss, the only one who knows the identity of the boss, and something of a mystery to the lower-tier members himself.
> 
> This was written for Dana, who wanted a mafia AU with death and betrayal and action, of which I gave her only one (point five?). Hurray!


End file.
